


you say that you're no good for me

by knightswatch



Series: Pack Mentality [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, Mugging, Sometimes they play volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4795826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyoutani doesn't answer and Yahaba settles him on the bed with a frown, trying to get a better estimate of what in the world would make him show up looking so worse for wear. He shakes his head, grabbing at Yahaba's hand when he reaches out to wipe blood away from his temple, flipping it over and staring at the bandages stuck to his skin. “Are you okay?”</p><p>There's an odd thickness in his voice when he repeats the question and Yahaba draws his hand back slowly, nodding his head this time. “I'm fine. What happened to you?”</p><p>Kyoutani shakes his head, eyes leaping away to survey Yahaba's room instead. He sighs, trying not to think about how warm Kyoutani's fingers felt against his skin, rolling his eyes and standing. “Stay there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you say that you're no good for me

**Author's Note:**

> I told you it wouldn't be pre-slash forever.

Spring High does not go well for Yahaba on any front. He gets to play, with Kyoutani of all people (after slamming him into a wall and actually screaming at him, no less), but in the end their team still isn't enough.

Some things do get better after their defeat, though; Oikawa and the other third-years don't leave right away which makes Yahaba feel a bit better. Kyoutani sends him nervous glances sometimes that Yahaba can't exactly explain. He's starting to become aware of the fact that he's probably going to be named captain next, and he tries to swallow the dread and inadequacy that fill him at the thought.

And so, with that in mind, he takes it upon himself to approach Kyoutani after practice. He's resting on the bench, towel draped over the back of his neck, elbows resting on his knees and still trying to catch his breath. Something about the angle lets Yahaba get a small peek down the back of his jersey, just thick muscle and a single mole at the top of his shoulder. He does his best not to leer, because Kyoutani probably would not take that well, and instead taps him gently on the shoulder. 

Kyoutani starts, looking surprised when it's Yahaba standing in front of him. He doesn't immediately frown, which Yahaba counts as a point in his favor. “Finally making good on your threat? I'm a little tired for an ass-kicking.”

Oikawa is far enough away and busy enough tormenting Iwaizumi that he doesn't get scolded about owing the swear jar. Yahaba shakes his head and after a moment of hesitation takes the seat on the bench next to Kyoutani with a small smile. “You're not getting an ass-kicking. I know you did your best in that game.”

Kyoutani eyes him for a moment before nodding his head and taking a long drink from his water bottle. He seems to use the pause to gather his thoughts into line. “Okay. Then what do you want.”

“I think--” Yahaba hesitates because the words on the tip of his tongue are entirely impulse and he's worried that this question isn't going to go over well. He charges ahead anyway because something about Kyoutani makes him an impulsive person. “You and I should do some extra practice together.”

Kyoutani blinks again and his eyebrows leap towards each other, but he's not quite all the way to glaring. Yahaba is starting to realize that some of his glaring is just naturally etched into his face and is reminded of all the time his mother has told his little brother that his face will get stuck that way when he looks angry. “Why?”

The question surprises him out of his musing and Yahaba starts a little, hoping that he isn't really blushing like he thinks he might be. “Y-you'll be my ace next year. That means we'll have to get better at working together.”

Kyoutani takes a heart-stopping moment to mull that over before nodding his head. “Sure. In the mornings then?”

He wonders what exactly has put him in such an agreeable mood, and in the end decides not to ask. “Sure. In the mornings.”

 

Practicing with just Kyoutani is... interesting. Their combination improves slowly, with both of them fighting for every blood-soaked inch of progress and frequently fighting each other as well. But even their bickering takes on its own rhythm, and at least once or twice, Yahaba swears that he sees Kyoutani smile, just a little. 

If Oikawa is aware of their extra time practicing, he doesn't say anything about it. Yahaba had gone to Iwaizumi to procure the key to the gym and after a few questions about why he needed it, Iwaizumi had smiled before handing it over, telling them to have fun.

It brings back Yahaba's concern that the two of them are involved in something together; the way Kyoutani only seems to respect Iwaizumi (because Yahaba knows he doesn't have his respect-- he has tolerance and compliance and very little else from Kyoutani), the moments Iwaizumi takes out of practice to apparently check in on the younger wing spiker.

He spends days trying to unravel the mystery in his own head and comes up with nothing other than illegal activity.

 

Illegal activity crops up again in Yahaba's life without warning while he's on his way home from practice. There's a small park that he cuts through on his way home that is already swathed in darkness as he walks down the cracked sidewalk winding through the middle. It's late enough that there aren't people left lingering, chill enough that there probably weren't many to begin with.

The man that swoops out from behind the tree and grabs his arm is a surprise and on instinct Yahaba tries to wrench himself free and face him, until he hears the slide of a blade and feels the sharpness of the tip press into his back. He stops instantly, trying to look over his shoulder still.

“Okay kid. Phone and wallet and you won't get hurt,” the man's voice is hard next to his ear, older and graveled. Yahaba swallows slightly, nodding his head.

“T-they're in my bag,” he's not even lying-- everything is still tucked away from practice. The man growls in frustration and releases Yahaba's arm. Like an idiot, he takes the chance and jams his elbow backward, hitting something that isn't the knife before taking off running.

He barely makes it two steps before a hand grabs his ankle and sends him crashing to the battered pavement hard enough that his vision swims and his teeth cut into his lip. He rolls onto his back, prepared to cover his face and try and defend himself, both palms scraped from the fall. Whatever he might be expecting to happen next, it's not the wild-eyed dog that leaps out of a bush and digs its teeth into the thief's arm, snarls rolling from its chest.

Yahaba rolls away, staring in shock as the man shouts and attempts to wrench the dog away from him. It's a sandy sort of brown mutt, with spindly thin legs and black stripes running down its sides. It yelps when the man successfully kicks it free but picks itself up quickly and launches another snarling attack. Yahaba, after another stunned moment, picks himself up and grabs his bag, sprinting the rest of the way home despite the exhausting practice.

He has to explain to his mother exactly why he gets home late and beat up, and she stares like she isn't sure if she believes Yahaba's story or not. She puts both hands on the counter behind her and shakes her head with a frown. “Remember to clean those scrapes on your hands.”

He gives a confirming nod, rinsing them off with a cringe, picking a few stray pieces of gravel out from his palms before sticking neon green bandages (courtesy of his younger brother) over the scrapes. He doesn't tell the story again over dinner, more eager to just forget about the bizarre experience altogether. He's halfway to dozing off over his homework when there's a tap on his window. He jolts upright, blinking as another follows it-- the sound of someone tossing pebbles against the glass.

When he opens it, he nearly tumbles out. His room is the only one on the first story of the house, and five feet from him there stands Kyoutani, wearing nothing but his volleyball shorts, looking equal parts cold and annoyed. Yahaba is entirely uncertain how to greet the sight of him; his torso his covered in bruises and small cuts and there's a trickle of blood coming from his temple and it seems like he's having trouble breathing, every breath coming out shuddering and uneven. Kyoutani lifts his eyes and stares back at him, scowling as hard as ever.

“Are you okay?” He asks and Yahaba blinks back into his own mind, shaking his head hard and waving him inside.

“What are you doing here?” His voice has gone a little shrill with the demand and he has to half-pull Kyoutani in because hoisting himself through seems to hurt, judging, by the way, he clenches his teeth.

Kyoutani doesn't answer and Yahaba settles him on the bed with a frown, trying to get a better estimate of what in the world would make him show up looking so worse for wear. He shakes his head, grabbing at Yahaba's hand when he reaches out to wipe blood away from his temple, flipping it over and staring at the bandages stuck to his skin. “Are you okay?”

There's an odd thickness in his voice when he repeats the question and Yahaba draws his hand back slowly, nodding his head this time. “I'm fine. What happened to you?”

Kyoutani shakes his head, eyes leaping away to survey Yahaba's room instead. He sighs, trying not to think about how warm Kyoutani's fingers felt against his skin, rolling his eyes and standing. “Stay there.”

He ducks into the bathroom down the hall, grabbing the entire box of bandages and a damp cloth, walking in and raising an eyebrow at Kyoutani plucking the strings of the guitar leaned against the foot of his bed. He looks up when Yahaba's door closes and he frowns. “I need to go home...”

“You're lucky I didn't bring the peroxide in here,” Yahaba snaps at him, sitting and proceeding to try and wipe the blood off Kyoutani's head. He flinches back and Yahaba stops short, his hand hovering in mid-air until Kyoutani leans forward into it, grunting as Yahaba cleans it methodically and sticks a bandage to his skin, trying not to grin at the obnoxious shade of pink. He pauses once it's firmly in place, looking down at Kyoutani seriously. “Can I ask why you're at my house?”

His first answer is mumbled so lowly that Yahaba can't actually understand it, and he arches an eyebrow neatly, continuing to stare as Kyoutani's face splashes red and he turns away. His blush goes all the way to the tip of his ears and the back of his neck, and Yahaba is still struggling to ignore the fact that Kyoutani showed up with no shirt to speak of. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“What makes you think I wouldn't be?” His eyes narrow at that, grabbing Kyoutani's hand a little more roughly than he intends to, wiping blood off his palm.

“You got jumped,” Kyoutani shrugs, not bothering to offer any reason that he knows that when he shouldn't. Yahaba isn't sure where Kyoutani lives, but he left practice before Yahaba did. And if he was there why didn't he say anything at the time? There was only the guy who had tried to rob Yahaba and the weird dog that had attacked him. Yahaba sighs, continuing to stick neon bandages over the smaller cuts dotting his arms. He doesn't particularly want to have a go at Kyoutani's chest, mostly because that sounds like a recipe for some very embarrassing hormonal problems.

“That's really all you're going to say?” He grumbles, standing when he's finished and digging in his closet for a shirt that looks like it will fit Kyoutani and not embarrass him to walk home in. He comes up with a dark shirt sporting the logo of a band he doesn't recall ever listening to and passes it back to Kyoutani with a frown. “You don't have shoes either?”

“Don't worry about it,” Kyoutani has a wry expression that could almost be described as a smile if viewed from the right angle. Yahaba decides instantly that he doesn't like the feeling that Kyoutani is laughing at him for something and shoves him towards the window before he even has the shirt on.

“Well fine. You and your secrets can walk home barefoot,” the 'see if I care' is mostly implied. He doesn't want to admit that he really does care and that despite Kyoutani's habit of showing up with small bruises every few weeks, this is something that Yahaba is starting to find truly worrying. Kyoutani rolls his eyes, looking over his shoulder with a small frown.

“You... You don't need to know,” he shrugs his shoulders, glancing away when Yahaba glares at him. “It's better if you don't.”

“This is about you and Iwaizumi-san, isn't it,” Yahaba frowns when Kyoutani's head snaps up, his mouth open just a little in surprise. 

“T-there's nothing with me and Iwaizumi-san,” he shakes his head but looks away quickly again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don't worry about it.”

He ducks out of the window with an awkward wave after his feet hit the soft grass under Yahaba's window, glancing back once before jogging off and letting the night swallow him.

 

It's Yahaba who doesn't show up to their morning practice the next day. Perhaps he should, but he doesn't want to spend an extra hour alone with Kyoutani acting like he wasn't frustrated by Kyoutani deciding for him what he should and shouldn't know. 

He should, probably, accept it for what it was and just go, but he doesn't. He keeps skipping and ignoring the frustrated looks that Kyoutani sends him in the afternoons when they're with the rest of the team. Yahaba turns away every time and goes back to what he was already doing. He walks home with Watari even though the libero's house is out of the way. He avoids walking back through the park.

Truth be told, he's being immature about it. He's letting the hurt settle much more deeply than the quickly healing scrapes on his palms. Mostly though he feels stupid for thinking that he and Kyoutani were really starting to be friends.


End file.
